


Lara's Story

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: Brainwashing, Class Issues, Dark, Dominance, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Hypnotism, Mind Control, Porn With Plot, Sad Ending, Sexual Slavery, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 06:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17278829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: Lara, a young Manhattanite, is thrilled when her powerful neighbor seems willing to help her find a dream job.  But this mentor is repeatedly hypnotizing Lara…  Why?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTE: Some time ago, I wrote a story called “The Rich Are F**cking Us.” The story was about a young married couple, David and Lara, and David was the narrator. A reader liked the story, but requested I retell it from Lara’s point-of-view. Having said that, “Lara’s Story” is designed to be stand-alone, so don’t worry if you haven’t read the earlier tale.  
> I’ll also note that this is a DARK story; perhaps so much so as to dismay my usual readers. Do not climb on board if you’re hoping things work out for our heroine in the end. They don’t.  
>  \-- NickelModelTales

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a hypnotist, and the hypnotist takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

I hear the front door close, and I know David’s home.  Sheesh!  He’s cutting it close!  I know his firm is a slave market, but is it like a commandment there that no-one can get home before seven?

David shouts lame apologies and hurries into the shower.  I smile to myself, already thinking up how I’ll tease him later.  That boy is too serious for his own good.

As my husband is running the hot water, I look about.  We’ve only been living in our new apartment, what, not even three weeks yet?  Half of what we own is still in boxes.  It feels like we’ll never get moved in.  I’m not sure which box has my fancy purses.

Oh well.  While I shimmy into my favorite dress – the strapless light blue, with the sash about the waist – I allow myself to fantasize a little about the evening ahead.  David and I are new tenants in the Crestmark Tower, only the most exclusive apartment building on Manhattan’s Upper West Side.  Which alone is fabulous, right?  But to crown it all, the penthouse of our building is the proud residence of Malcolm and Helen Fairchilde.  Yes, **_the_** Malcolm and Helen Fairchilde.  And we’re having dinner with them tonight.

I can’t believe my luck!  This is what it must feel like to be invited to the White House or the Roosevelt Room.

Of course, the circumstances of our invitation were… well, a little weird.  Not a week ago, David and I were in our lobby, arguing with the superintendent.  In swept Helen Fairchilde, like the woman owned the damn place.  I recognized her immediately.  We met, exchanged pleasantries, and now…  Now David and I have been summoned to dinner!

But there’s something about Helen… something I couldn’t place.  The woman is refined, elegant, commanding, everything I hope I am when I turn forty-nine.  But she’s also… well, **_cold_** is maybe too harsh a word to use.  But Helen’s people skills need a little polish, there’s no doubt about that.

I pose in the mirror, scrutinizing the dress.  Yes, it shows off my flat tummy and nicely hugs my butt.  Is it too sexy for dinner with Manhattan’s most exclusive billionaires?  Hmm, not sure.  I want to look elegant, but not like I’m trying to catch Mr. Fairchilde’s eye.

Aw, screw it.  If Malcolm Fairchilde is cheating on his wife, he can pull down far sexier women than me, I’m sure.  The guy is richer than Midas and looks like George Clooney’s younger, hotter brother.  I opt to keep the blue strapless.

David’s stepping out of the shower.  I grab my earrings and squeeze into the steamy bathroom with my husband.

Ah, David.  I can’t help but smile when I see him.  How’d I get so lucky?

My David is a little pudgy, sure.  But you would be too if you’d worked your butt off at Yale to then land a starting associate position at Willow Crescent Wealth Management!  He worked nearly **_a hundred hours a week_** while at school, and still found time to romance me.  Just when I thought he’d fall over with exhaustion, he’d find a little time to bake me my favorite mint brownies or sing to me on the guitar or practice massages on me.  He’s embarrassingly romantic.

As he towels off, I feel David’s eyes admire me and the dress.  I smile a little.  Its fun knowing I can make him swoon, just by standing here.  I have to give him a quick kiss suddenly.

“Now get your butt in gear!” I mock-scold.  “We have to be there in fifteen minutes!”

The Fairchildes are waiting.

*************

Of course, Helen and Malcolm’s penthouse is **_breathtaking_**.

Its like a mansion and luxury resort rolled into one, perched on the very top of our apartment building.  My own family comes from money, and I’ll tell you, I’ve never seen opulence like **_this_**.

The elevator opens onto a private terrace overlooking all of Central Park.  The foyer is built from crystal and dark oak.  One maid escorts David and me through a ballroom, down two corridors, and into a private library, all of which is elaborately crafted.  I recognize classical Italian and Chinese influences melded into the interior design.

And the art!  Oh, the Fairchildes have spent **_tens of millions_** on the art displayed all around us.  I have a hard time passing by these treasures without a longer look.  Man, there’s a Gaicometti, a Rothko, a Twombly, a… no, **_two_** matching Lichtensteins, a de Kooning, a…

Ohhhhh!!!  A **_Picasso!_**   I’ve never seen an original Picasso outside of a museum!

I’m a hopeless art nerd, I admit it.

Cards on the table…  I’ve come to New York to support David, of course, but I want to put my MBA in Arts Management towards landing a curator position in a museum.  Any museum.  But New York is overpopulated with young women who want the same, right?  How am I going to break in?

I’m secretly hoping that Helen Fairchilde can be my ticket into the museum world.  According to The New York Times, she’s on the board of the Met **_and_** Julliard, plus has art connections all around the world.  Maybe, just maybe, if I impress her… maybe she’ll help hook me up?

The maid deposits David and me into the private library, where one wall is a panoramic window overlooking the Hudson River, which is black and glistening in the night air.  “I’ll notify Mr. and Mrs. Fairchilde that you are here,” murmurs Giselle the maid, and then she is gone.

David and I exchange giddy looks.  “Wow,” I tell him.  “I could learn to live like this.”

David nods, trying to look at everything at once.  Despite the beauty surrounding us, I suddenly find myself gazing at him.  Just him.  My mother always says that the more in love you are, the more handsome your man becomes.  Its true.  David did not catch my eye at first, what with his sandy brown hair that is never properly combed, his rumbled appearance, and his less-than-athletic body.  But he has beautiful eyes.  And that wonderful smile.  And when he is discovering something new, he radiates this oh-so-cute little boy charm.  Like now.

I know I’m being silly, but I suddenly want to kiss him and tell him I love him.  He’s-

Footsteps from above us interrupt my thoughts.  There’s a revolving staircase before the windows, and now the Fairchildes are descending to greet us.

I automatically straighten as Helen Fairchilde appears.  She is short and wiry, feminine and yet so sleek.  I’d forgotten how beautiful she is.  Helen’s face is sculpted, with her ice-blue eyes and sharp cheekbones immediately capturing my attention.  Her skin is faint but not pale, and flawless in its perfection.  Her hair is elaborately folded up, save for one rebel strand that frames the left side of her angular face.

Helen is wearing a black Chinese mini dress, which covers her neck, torso, hips, and upper legs.  Her arms and legs from the knees down are bare.  Diamonds sparkle from her ears and throat.

Wow.  I could never wear that outfit.  I’m in great shape, but I don’t have the body to pull off that number.  Helen is so thin and muscular, she appears to be aerodynamic.  Her hands are small and delicate, almost spiderlike as she flexes her fingers.

Behind the elegant Mrs. Fairchilde is her husband, Malcolm.  I’ve seen pictures of the man, of course, but in person he makes an even bolder impression.  Like his wife, Malcolm is short and very thin, with the body of an acrobat or jockey, perhaps.  He is unnaturally good-looking, from his rich salt-and-pepper hair, square jaw, and piercing blue eyes.  He is dressed in a black tuxedo, which looks like it has never been worn before.

Jesus, both Fairchildes appear to have been genetically engineered to form a superrich race of gods.  I feel scrutinized and inadequate in their steel gazes.

And did I just imagine it, or did Malcolm look at my breasts?

“David, Lara,” Helen murmurs.  She smiles, but the smile does not extend to her eyes.  “How lovely to see you.”

“Yes, welcome,” Malcolm adds.

Our hosts step off the stairs.  I try to give Helen a greeting hug, but the woman clearly does not want to be touched.

Hmm.  How am I going to charm her into helping me get a museum job?

*************

Dinner with the Fairchildes is awkward, at best.  We eat in an expansive dining room, fussed over by three different servants, whom Helen and Malcolm never once acknowledge.  Conversation is strained.  Helen asks David and me about our lives together, our pasts, how we met, blah blah blah.  I feel like we’re being interviewed.

And while Malcolm smiles and pours on the charm, his wife is always detached, always aloof.  She never once smiles, not genuinely.  Her voice is always quiet and while she never expresses displeasure, she never radiates any warmth, either.  She sits straight up in her chair, and barely touches her food.  She has this weird vampire-lady vibe that is starting to creep me out.

Only once does Helen offer any insight about herself.  At one point, David (who is more uncomfortable than I am) notes the two Indian elephant statues on either ends of the room.  “So,” he asks, “did either of you ever travel to India?”

Helen folds her napkin.  “I did,” she admits.  “In my college days.  I was actually a meditation student.”

“Really?” I say, before I can stop myself.  I’m surprised.  Helen seems like the least likely person to ever reach nirvana.

“Oh yes,” our hostess replies, nodding.  She stares into the space above us, remembering.  “I studied under a number of swamis.  In various disciplines.”

“Those were her wild and free days,” Malcolm chuckles to David.

Helen frowns at her husband.  “Yes, quite,” she huffs.  “But I owe all my success to those years.  Meditation has taught me focus, discipline… how the mind works.  Invaluable.”

David and I don’t know how to respond to that, so we slide into a lull.

I bite my lip.  Geez, how am I going to pivot the topic to museums?

Malcolm puts both hands on the table.  “Well,” he announced, “Helen and I have an after-dinner activity for you two.  Are you game?”

*************

The Fairchildes lead David and me deeper into their lair, up a wide flight of stairs and down another corridor.  We find ourselves in a softly-lit room, with a depressed floor.  The décor of this room is Italian Renaissance, and I am weak at the knees when I see the handpainted murals on the walls, hidden behind genuine marble columns.  There is a ring of leather couches, and at the center of the room is what appears to be a king-sized bed… except there is no headboard, no pillows, no topsheet.  Just a mattress and a satin cover.  Odd.

Helen slides the two panel doors shut.  Now we four are alone.

Seeing my wary expression, Malcolm explains:  “This is our ‘talking room.’  We like to invite guests back here after dinner.  It makes for a more relaxing atmosphere.”

I smile politely, but there’s something sinister about this place I don’t like.

“Lara,” Malcom says brightly.  “Helen tells me, you have an interest in classical art?”

Ah!  My opening!  I smile brighter, and allow Malcolm to pull me aside.  Behind me, I’m aware of Helen striking up a conversation with David.

“Well, Renaissance art, and modern,” I say to Malcolm, who made an obvious glance at my breasts again.  Well, let him look.  If he helps me get a job, I don’t care.

“I purchased a number of classical pieces in Italy last year,” the billionaire remarks, gesturing to a display case.  “May I get your opinion on one of them?  This one here.”

I nod, stepping up to the glass.  He wants me to play art expert?  Maybe this is some kind of test?  Aw, man.  I feel put on the spot.

“That one,” Malcolm tells me.  He stands too close, but indicates a black urn at our eye level.

I peer closely.  Between the top and bottom lettering, there is a depiction of three figures, two women and one man.  They are standing tightly together, forming a human sandwich.  The smaller woman is in the middle, and the other two face her.

I can’t help but notice that the woman in the middle is nude.  Her eyes and mouth are wide open, as if she is surprised.  Or screaming.

Hmm.  I’ve studied ancient art, of course, but I really don’t know much about it.  Its hard to come by, and scholars can never agree on what is depicted.

“This is… Greek?” I guess feebly.

“Roman,” Malcolm corrects me.  “Tarentum, possibly.  110 BC.”

Jesus!  This thing is older than any other piece I’ve ever studied.  A shiver trickles down my spine.

“See the girl in the middle?” asks Malcolm.  “She’s a slave girl.  The man and woman are her masters.  They’re taking their… pleasure with her.”

I wince.

“It was quite common among the Roman aristocrats, you know,” my host says breezily.  “Beautiful young women could be purchased and no-one objected to what the masters demanded.  A simpler time.”

There’s almost admiration in Malcolm’s voice.  I’m about to ask about how he located this piece, when Helen’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

She still talking to David, in fact, counting out loud!  I turn, puzzled.

“…three…” Helen is saying.

She stands before David, far too close to him.  My husband stares back at her, and he seemed zonked out somehow.  His eyelids are fluttering shut.

“…four…” Helen continues.  “…five!”

She does something with David’s hands, I’m not sure what.  But David shuts his eyes completely and tumbles back onto the couch behind him.  Its like he’s just gone to sleep, right here, right in the middle of the room.

Holy cow.  I wasn’t expecting **_that_**.  “Wow… what did you do to him?” I ask.

“The boy is asleep, my dear,” Malcolm assures me.  “He’ll awake later, feeling wonderful and reinvigorated.”

Okay, that’s just… weird.

“Is he… okay?” I ask stupidly, worriedly looking at the motionless David.

“Of course,” Malcolm murmurs.  Behind me now, he places both his hands on my upper arms.

Helen comes to stand before me.  “Lara,” she says smoothly.  “Look at me, please.”

I tear my eyes away from David.

Helen half-smiles.  She reaches up, lightly touching her index fingers to my temples.  “It’s a meditation exercise, my dear,” she explains.  “David asked about it.  A very simple technique.  You know about your _chakras_ , perhaps?”

Helen’s eyes are so blue.  _Chakras_?  I think I heard that term… where…?  In yoga class?

Helen begins moving her fingertips in small, slow circles.  “ _Chakras_ are the body’s energy centers,” she explains quietly, her eyes searching mine.  “They connect with _nadis_ to channel _prana_ , you know.  Energy and release.  Energy and release.”

I open my mouth to speak.

“Shhh…!” Helen instructs.  “Do you feel that?  Concentrate, Lara.  Your mind will relax a little, that’s natural.  You will feel yourself slip into relaxation as your _prana_ flows freely.  Flows freely…”

I sense Malcolm’s body close behind me.  He’s still holding me gently by the arms.  Helen’s fingers rotate.  I’m starting to feel the slightest, gentlest warmth on my temples.

“There…!” murmurs Helen soothingly.   “Poor girl, you **_have_** been stressed, haven’t you?  Let go, if just for a little bit.  Do you feel this?”

A part of me wants to break free, to grab and shake David and get the hell out of here.  This is just too weird.  Helen is doing, what, some freaky-deaky ancient Indian meditation with me?  Why?

As if sensing my confusion, my hostess looks deeper into my eyes.  “I’m massaging your _svadhisthana_ , your _sacral chakra_ ,” she tells me.  “It gives your mind positive flow.  Let yourself relax into it.  You’ll feel so much better later.”

I’m no expert in Indian mysticism, but I’m not sure what Helen is telling me is accurate… but then again…  I dunno…  I **_am_** somehow feeling relaxed…

“Very good,” whispers Helen.  “Now… relax deeper.  Relax from your inner muscles, all the way out through your mind.  Don’t resist, Lara.  Relax…  Relax…”

Its like Helen is rising up in my mind, blotting out my own thoughts.  I’m losing concentration as she speaks, dominating my thinking.  How is she doing this?

“You’ll find,” Helen continues, “that your arms, your legs, your stomach, your shoulders, they all will slip into relaxation on their own, without your conscious direction.  You breathe deeply, focusing only on my voice.  Doesn’t that feel wonderful, Lara?”

I instinctively want to nod… but I can’t move my head for some reason.  I’m drowsy and happily paralyzed.  Its like I’m a baby, hypnotized by my mother’s lullaby.

My vision is blurring.  My arms dangle uselessly at my side, like cords of thick rope.  Helen’s cold blue eyes swim before me.  I’m no longer aware of my limbs or hands or feet.

“And now,” Helen whispers inside my head, “I’ll count, ever so gently.  One the count of one, you will feel an **_incredible_** relaxation flow through your body, and you will be asleep.  There will be no way to resist this feeling of surrender, surrender to me and my voice.  Do you understand, Lara?”

She doesn’t wait for my response.  “Five…” the blue eyes count.  “Four…”

I’m only aware of three things now…  Those beautiful eyes, that beautiful voice, and the two spinning fingers sending golden energy into my mind.

“One!” I hear.  At the same time, Helen releases my temple and snaps both fingers, right beside my ears.

I’m amazed at what happens next.  My eyes close, not because I will them to, but because I’ve lost control over them.  My head turns to stone, and drops straight down into my chest.  Malcolm’s hands carefully pull me towards his body, and soon I am collapsed against him.  I feel weightless and free and haven’t a care in the world.

“Deeper and deeper, Lara,” I hear Helen’s voice.  “Surrender even more.  Even more.”

Dimly, I’m aware of Helen’s hands on my body, rubbing more pressure points, sending me down even further into this wonderful relaxation, where I am enchanted and helpless before her voice.

Helen speaks continuously:  “You will find that while you are in this deep, relaxing sleep, Lara, your subconscious mind will happily accept all of the suggestions that I give you.  Everything I command you to do or say or believe will become your reality the moment you are awake again.  You will follow and obey all of my commands.”

I sigh contently, feeling my body descend even further into relaxation.  I never want to wake up.

*************


	2. Chapter 2

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a hypnotist, and the hypnotist takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

Time passes… I think…  I am still under Helen’s strange magic.  And you would think that having someone in your mind, controlling your thoughts, would be scary or alarming.  But somehow I blindly trust Helen.  I want her to command me, to tell me what to do.  I have no desires of my own.

I think Helen is stroking my body, but I’m so relaxed, I can’t be sure.  She speaks on, telling me how aroused I feel, how much I want Malcolm to fuck me, how much I want to pleasure her.  I feel submissive and enslaved.  It’s an oddly wonderful feeling.

And then, Helen is counting.  I can tell my body is waking, and I almost regret being pulled out of my deep slumber.

*************

“Five!” Helen says loudly, again snapping both fingers.

My eyes fly open.  For a second, I don’t know who I am or where I am.  I blink, brushing the cobwebs out of my mind.

Off on the couch, is David.  He sits there, a sleepy expression on his face.  As he and I regard each other, its as if he’s a total stranger to me.  Sure, he seems familiar, but… I’m not completely sure who he is.  I look away, and push him from my mind.

Before me is that strange bed, and… Malcolm.  The older man now approaches me, his suit jacket tossed aside.

I feel my heart race as Malcolm draws nearer.  God… he’s hot!  So hot.  Its like I’ve spent my life fantasizing about him and now here he is, staring hungrily at my body.

I want him.  I don’t know why, but I want to feel his fat, steel-like cock pumping inside me like he’s gonna bust me open.

Malcolm and I stand toe-to-toe, and I can’t believe it when he leans forward and kisses me.  I dissolve at the touch of his lips, I swear.  All I want is to make him happy.  I’m the delirious slave girl to his Roman aristocrat now.

As we kiss and I grow wet, Malcolm grabs and pulls me into his body.  I whimper a little.

At the same time, I’m aware of gentle fingers behind me, traveling across my shoulders.  Helen!  My she-goddess is admiring me from behind.  Ohhhhh, I want her too.  Thoughts of museums and dinner and weirdo Indian massages are gone from my mind.  I only want to strip naked and hump both of these beautiful, beautiful people.

Helen unzips my dress, forcing it off my frame and down to my feet.  I’m delighted.

I grow even crazier with arousal when I feel Malcolm’s hands on my breasts, lifting them and gently squeezing them.  His hands are soft yet firm, and my nipples spring up immediately at his command.

At the same time, I feel Helen’s hands and breath on my naked back.  She kisses me on the neck, and her hands slide down my muscles to grope my ass.

Oh my God!  My breasts and ass are being explored by four of the most sensuous hands I’ve ever encountered.  I moan in pleasure.

“And now, Lara,” I hear Helen whisper in my ear, “you will become our **_filthy little slave_**.  You will fuck us rotten and allow us to dominate your will and body.  You cannot resist.”

Helen’s fingers snap, just once.

Suddenly I can move!  I step away from the embrace of my master and mistress, quickly shedding my high heels and panties.  I climb onto the bed, staying on all fours, making sure Malcolm can see my butt.  I’m so horny.

What has come over me?  Is this a dream?  I’m a sexual girl, sure, but I’ve **_never_** done a threesome where I wanted to be a helpless little fuck-slave!  The hell?

And yet…  I’m so damn aroused, I’m not thinking straight.  Helen and Malcolm own me, own my body and my mind.  I am desperate to please them, if only because they commanded me to do so.

I feel Helen’s tiny hand lift one buttock, and then her other hand slides in between my legs.  Immediately, I’m overjoyed when her fingers brush against my wet, oh-so-wet clit.  I throw my mouth open wide, praying I don’t cum now and prematurely end this wonderful evening.

As Helen plays with me, I see Malcolm stride before me.  He’s slowly removing his clothing.  I can’t help but stare at his **_flawless_** body!  A little hairy, sure, but every muscle is clearly visible!  Amazing!  I tremble a little as his cock appears when his trousers descend.  Dear God, its even more beautiful than I’d guessed!

Its growing harder to resist Helen.  She fingers me faster, forcing me to resist more and more to keep from cumming.  Meanwhile, Malcolm gets on the bed before me, standing on his knees.  I stare at his erect penis, right before my face.

“Now!” Helen shouts, and smacks my ass.  **_Hard_**.

I gasp as the pain spurs the orgasm I had struggled to contain.  Ohhh, wow.  Yeah, **_oh yeah!_**   As pleasure overwhelms me, I topple off to the side, my arms and legs turning to jelly.  My eyes roll back into my head, and my vision all but blacks out.

Ohhhhh…!  Holy fuck, this orgasm is… still going!  **_Fuck me!_**   Not even David ever gave me such an O.  My voice warbles helplessly as I cry out.

I feel hands seize my arms and legs, and I am forced onto my back.  I struggle feebly, but its no use.  A mouth appears at my pussy, and then I feel licking.

I look down.  Helen.  She’s now naked, clutching the insides of my legs as she feasts at my vagina.  I can’t resist her, mentally or sexually.  She is my mistress.

Strong hands grasp my head, and turn it sideways.  Malcolm is lying beside me, and his rigid cock is right before my lips.  I’m not into oral, but my master’s demands are clear.  He thrusts forward, and I put up no resistance as his manhood slides into my mouth.

Malcolm grunts in pleasure.  His cock begins to dance in and out of my lips as he puts his narrow little hips to work.

I lie there, being pleasured and giving pleasure.  My brain is swirling, captivated by sexual arousal and this oppressive feeling that I must **_OBEY_** these two wonderful people.  Distracted and horny as fuck, I struggle to please.

We suck on each other, Malcolm, Helen, and I.  I can’t tell which of my masters is enjoying themselves more.  Helen is making cute little cat noises, which you’d never expect from her.  Malcolm’s cock is fucking my mouth so fast, my lips can barely embrace him.

And then, under Helen’s command, my vagina starts cumming.  I try to hold it back, but there’s no resisting her powers.  My legs kick a little.

And perhaps at my signal, Malcolm loses his composure too.  His dick suddenly pushes deep into my mouth, spirting thick semen right into my throat.  I wheeze, gasping for air, as I’m forced to swallow my master’s entire load.

Tastes good.

Malcolm and I ride our orgasms to their conclusions, and I sink back into the mattress, happy at my performance.

But then Helen seizes me, and Malcolm is pulling at my arms, too.  What?  They want more?

Dazed, I hurry to obey them.  Before I know it, I am on my hands and knees, my head now facing into Helen’s pussy.  I glance up at her, and my mistress is watching me with quiet expectation.  Those hypnotizing blue eyes bore into me, and I know what she wants.

I lean forward, planting my lips into Helen’s crotch.  I can smell her arousal.  I go to work.

In my freshman year at college, before I dated David (but after that slimeball Bruce broke my heart), I was with Michelle for, hmm, maybe six weeks?  I thought I was gay and wanted to be with a woman.  And Michelle was happy to teach me.  We used to sit on her bed, pantsless, taking turns practicing on each other.  I learned a lot from Michelle.

I apply all of her teachings now.

As I am exploring Helen, seeking her spot, I feel Malcolm grab my butt.  He pushes my legs apart a little, and before I realize what he is doing, his cock tip is probing my vagina.  Fuck me!  He’s still hard?  Is this man superhuman?

And then, he is fucking me, fucking me at full blast.  It is seriously throwing off my tongue’s journey into Helen.  But I clamp onto my mistress’s thighs and solder on.  Oh God, does Malcolm **_feel good_** back there!

David has fucked me doggie-style, but… well, lets’ just say he hasn’t the knack for it.  Malcolm is skilled and confident and he drills me like a jackhammer.  I struggle to ignore my second orgasm starting to bloom.

I have to pleasure Helen before I lose all control.  I suck and probe harder.  Helen mumbles something I don’t catch, but I ignore her.  Gotta pleasure my mistress!

Michelle taught me **_well_**.  Despite Malcolm’s pounding, I find Helen’s spot.  I land my tongue.  A little more suction, and then…

My mistress shouts something, and soon her fingers are tearing at my hairdo.  I don’t care.  She’s cumming, hard, and I feel her hot juices splash against my face.  I lick harder…

And then Malcolm cums, too.

Now there’s semen in my vagina and cum juice in my mouth.  I’m a sex receptacle at both ends.  I’m so happy.

And with that, my **_second_** orgasm bursts into life.  I hang on as best I can, kicking my feet wildly into the mattress.  Helen is shouting aloud.

The three of us climax together, my mistress, my master, and their slutty slave girl.  I don’t know who finishes first.

But soon, Malcolm is dropping to the satin sheets, looking as if he’s been KO’ed.  I smile, pleased with myself.

I look up at Helen, who is already looking at me.

“ ** _Sleep!_** ” she commands me.

Unable to resist her power, I immediately drop into an enchanted slumber.

*************

Later, I’m still asleep.  Helen’s voice is cutting into my thoughts, commanding me.  Mindless and under her control, I rise and move to sit on the couch next to David.  Then I am put **_even deeper_** into relaxation.

As I drift deeper into peace, I’m vaguely aware of my mistress and master in discussion.  They’re discussing me!  And yet, I have no interest in what they are saying.  I listen with detached fascination.

“I want to keep her,” Malcolm says, and I know he’s talking about me.

Helen is skeptical.  I am married and in love with my husband, after all.  One night of hypnosis won’t erase that.

But Malcolm in insistent.  “You’re inside her mind,” he tells Helen.  “You’ll find a way.”

Helen considers the challenge.

And then, my mistress is speaking directly to David and me.  We are to get up and go home.  (I am to dress first.)  Once we are home, we will forget everything that has happened here tonight.  We will believe Helen and Malcolm are charming hosts, and have nothing but admiration for them.

“And Lara,” Helen adds, commanding only me, “tomorrow you will return to our apartment.  You will make sure you come **_alone_**.”

*************

After oversleeping – which we never do, weird – David and I decide to go out for waffles the next morning.  We should get cracking on unpacking and making the apartment a proper home… but screw it, we’re hungry and both in a good mood.  The diner around the corner makes great waffles.

Squeezed into a tiny booth, we gossip about last night.  “Jesus, the Fairchildes’ place, right?” David shakes his head.  “They’re worth, what, hundreds of millions?”

“ ** _Their art_** is worth hundreds of millions,” I inform him.  “Malcolm probably buys and sells small countries on the exchange markets.”

“Wow,” says David, impressed.  “You’d expect two people with so much money would be weird and creepy, right?  But Helen and Malcolm seem… so nice.”

My mind goes blank for a second.  “Yes, so nice,” I agree quickly.

“I really enjoyed myself,” David remarks, spotting the waitress bringing our food.

I have the funniest urge.  Not knowing why I say this, I tell David, “The best part is that Helen thinks she might have some museum leads for me!”

I then frown.  I just **_lied_** to my husband.

Why did I do that?  I’m not sure.

“Well, be sure to follow-up, then,” David nods, reaching for the syrup.

*************

I change clothes three times, wondering what to wear for my second trip to chez Fairchilde.  The first time it was “informal dress,” and I still felt like I had to wear my Sunday best.  Somehow I don’t think Helen and Malcolm lounge around their place in concert tee shirts and sweatpants.

I finally settle on a simple white blouse with a collar, pink skirt, low heels, and my hair pulled up in a loose ponytail.  It says, “ _Hi, neighbor, I was just dropping by, but I still look nice, right?_ ”  Helen probably won’t be impressed, but ah, what the hell.

I kiss David good-bye, and leave him to set up the TV.  He’ll probably make it hopelessly complicated so he can hook up his Xbox, but I’ll learn to adjust.  I cue up an elevator and soon I am rising back up to the 41st floor again.

*************

Adele the maid ushers me to a small sitting room, a snug little space with more bookcases, a bridge table, and a miniature hearth.  Helen is sitting there, absorbed in a clinical-looking book.  As I enter, Helen orders some tea and then waits for Adele to depart.

The renowned Mrs. Fairchilde regards me.  As always, Helen has dressed elegantly – silk blouse, beige slacks, heels, minimal jewelry – with flawless hair and makeup.  As always, she sits straight up in her chair, as if she isn’t aware it has a back.  And as always, she looks at me without the slightest trace of warmth or interest.

“Lara,” she says flatly.  “How kind of you to visit.”

“Well, thank you for inviting me back,” I gush, already feeling naked under her piercing stare.

Adele arrives with a tea tray.  As the maid pours, Helen sets aside her book.  Expecting a volume on art, I’m surprised to see the word “Hypnosis” in the title.

Adele vanishes for the second time, and Helen hands me a steaming cup on a saucer.

 _Okay, Lara,_ I think to myself.  _Time to get that museum job._

“I was wondering,” I say, hoping I sound causal, “that we might discuss… I mean, that you might have some advice for me?  On getting into the museum world?”

“Ah,” Helen replies, and I can’t tell if she’s annoyed or not.  “In what sort of work are you interested?”

Too late, I realize I’ve forgotten my resume and display portfolio.  “Well, any job, really,” I say quickly.  “I do have an MBA in business and arts administration.  I mean, I just want to get my foot in the door.  I’d start as a tour guide and work my way up from there, if I had to.”

Oh my God, I sound like a desperate teenager, I realize in horror.

Helen says nothing, stirring her tea.

“So…” I muster, feeling daring, “…do you think…”

“I see a number of possibilities,” Helen comments.  “The Met, unfortunately, is not hiring.  But MOMA is a possibility.  And the children’s museums may also be viable options.”

My heart leaps.  “Yes!” I blush.  “That would be-“

“But first,” intones Helen, “I need to know more about you first.”

“Me?” I repeat.

“If I am to be a character witness on your behalf,” my hostess explains, “I need to know more about you.”

“About me,” I say again, thinking fast.  “Well, I earned a 3.445 GPA in-“

“No, no,” Helen cuts me off.  “Your credentials are evident to anyone who can read a resume.  I want to know about **_you_**.  Tell me about you and David.”

I shift in my seat.  I need Helen’s help… but I’m also a very private person.  My marriage is **_not_** her business.

Helen regards while stirring her tea.  “You must love David very much,” she prods.

Its funny; any other woman telling me _You must love David very much_ would say these words with warmth and admiration.  Helen sounds like she’s diagnosing an illness.

I sigh, seeing that she will not be deterred.  “I do,” I allow.  “I dated enough to know that David is The One.”

Helen nods.  “Sensible,” she comments.  “So there were others before David?”

I frown a little.  I want to be Helen’s BFF, but this is getting a little too personal.

“There were,” I say.  “But I can’t imagine the MOMA will care about my dating history.”

“Of course not,” agrees Helen.  “But I think you’ll find that the more prominent art houses are quite conservative.  They want to know they’re hiring respectable people with stable emotional backgrounds.  Can’t be too careful these days, of course.”

“Of course,” I say.

Helen’s slender hand reaches for more cream.  She pours, then stirs her cup, completely ignoring me at the moment.  I’m annoyed.  Why do I feel like I’m her servant or something?

Out of boredom, I crane my neck around.  Odd, this room seems to be devoid of the art that Helen and Malcolm prize.  I don’t see-

Oh, wait.  There is something on the wall behind me, between two modern bookcases.  It looks like several mini-portraits, all arranged in a neat grid.

“You admire it?” Helen asks, seeing me pry.

I blush.  “I, uh, well…”  Why do I feel so uncomfortable around this woman?

“Go on,” says Helen, gesturing with one hand.  “Take a closer look.  Please.”

She seems earnest.  I rise, and approach the display.

It’s a set of photographs.  Black-and-white photographs.  All of…

Oh.  All of beautiful young women, all in the nude.  Ah.

I look closer.  There is one lady to a portrait.  Each woman sits before the same charcoal background, perched on a black stool, her spine straight, and her face expressionless.  The women gaze back at me, a silent, beautiful chorus.

“That is Malcolm’s,” Helen says behind me.  I didn’t hear her approach.  “He loved nude photographs before I took him around the world and showed him real art.  Venice, Vienna, Paris, Cairo, Hong Kong.  Real art.  But this collection is close to his heart.”

How old is this work, anyway?  These women have modern hairdos.

Hey…  Isn’t that one… the professional tennis player in our building?  I thought I bumped into her in the laundry last week.  Naw, I’m imagining it.

“Lara, I think we need to shift our conversation a little,” Helen tells me.  “Would you look at me, please?”

I gaze at the billionaire’s wife, a little weirded out.

“Look into my eyes, Lara,” Helen murmurs, stepping close.  “When I snap my fingers, I want you to **_SLEEP_** …!”

Confused, I wrinkle my brow.

Helen raises her hand.  Before I can say anything, her spiderlike fingers click.

And my thoughts vanish as my eyes close.

*************

 


	3. Chapter 3

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a hypnotist, and the hypnotist takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

Where am I?  I’m not sure.  I feel so… content.  My body doesn’t seem to exist.

Wait, that’s not true.  I have this vague memory of being in Helen’s study, and being told to sit on her couch.  Maybe I’m sitting there now?  I can’t feel my body… but it seems like I’m sitting.  But it does.  So weird, I don’t…

Ah, I don’t care.  I haven’t a care in the world.

“And now, Lara,” I hear Helen’s voice, “you will answer all of my questions out loud, openly and without hesitation.  Do you understand?”

“…yes….” I hear my voice reply.  I sound drugged.

“Very good,” Helen says matter-of-factly.  “Now, relax your mind further, Lara.  As you do, you will think of David.  Only of David.  And before you, your mind will take you to a very, very special moment.  The moment you realized that you loved David.  You will see that moment clearly in your mind, right **_now_**.”

On the word **_now_** , a vision appears before me.  I stare in wonder, as _I am back in my parents’ house, the family mansion at Willowbrook.  In my dad’s TV room, down in the basement.  I can smell the old popcorn._

_I look about, amazed.  There’s Stacie, Jenn, Maggie, Sandra, and Carrie.  Ugh. **Carrie**.  My flesh crawls as I behold my old nemesis.  I thought I’d never clap eyes on her again._

“What do you see, Lara?” Helen’s voice asks me.  Its as if she’s in my head.

I describe the scene.

“Very good, Lara,” Helen purrs.  “Go deeper into relaxation, into this moment.  Why do you hate Carrie so much?”

“She’s a vengeful slut,” I say honestly.

You’d think Helen would react badly to my potty mouth, but the beautiful voice in my head makes no judgement.  “What happens next, Lara?”

_I watch, and a door opens.  David bounds in.  He is younger, thinner, with a little more hair.  He smiles at my girlfriends, sitting on a sofa._

_I remember this day.  I had brought David home to meet Mom and Dad for the first time.  He made a great impression with them… and with my local girlfriends too.  Just look at them pepper him with questions._

_“You… go to Yale Business?” Stacie asks._

_David shrugs.  “Have to go somewhere,” he replies._

_“Yale Business… that’s the best business school in the country,” says Jenn._

_My girlfriends are exchanging glances.  They’ve just realized that in ten years, my David will be_ **rich** _.  Suddenly they find him very, very interesting.  They are chortling at all his jokes and reaching to pat his knee._

I watch, forced to describe all of this to Helen. _My girlfriends are now openly flirting with David… who is oblivious to their attentions._

“And this is when you realized you loved him,” Helen states.

“No…” I murmur.

_The scene changes.  Now… now I am in the car.  It is dark, and the car is in my parent’s garage._

_That’s right, I remember now.  My girlfriends, David, and I all went up to Herman’s Lake.  I dozed off on the drive home; they let me sleep in the car.  I’m only waking up now._

_As I peer about in the dim light, I can see the door into my parents’ house.  David is there, but he isn’t looking at me.  He’s looking at… Carrie._

_Carrie!  That skank!  She’s standing before my David, breathing down his neck.  A seductive hand strokes his cheek, once._

_“I think you’re hot,” Carrie says, using her low Sex Voice.  “Don’t you think I’m hot, too?”_

_“Hey,” David protests, trying to back up._

_“How about now?” moans Carrie.  She peels off her top, and she isn’t wearing a bra, the slut.  As David stands mesmerized by her bulging tits, she grabs his hands.  Then she plants his palms on her mammies and leans forward to kiss him._

_“Whoa!” cries David, both stepping back and shoving Carrie away.  “Hey,_ **fuck that** _.  I’m in love with Lara.”_

_Despite my rage at Carrie, my heart jumps._ **In love?**

_“Oh, she’ll never know, baby,” Carrie promises, making one last attempt._

_David spins on his heels, leaving her there._

_He walks quickly to the car.  I remember!  He’s come to check on me, and wake me up!_

_I pretend to be asleep._

_“Hey,” I hear David’s soft voice whisper.  “Hey, Sleeping Beauty.  You still with me?”_

_I yawn and stretch, trying to make it look sexy.  “Hey there,” I murmur at him, and smile._

_David looks concerned.  “Look,” he says, nervous.  “I have to tell you something…”_

“And he told you about Carrie,” Helen finishes.

“Yes…” I say aloud, watching the scene fade.  A part of me misses David already.

Helen touches me on the shoulder.  “Now go deeper, Lara.  Even deeper into relaxation, even deeper under my control.  Why did **_that moment_** strike a chord with you?  Relax, and your mind will tell you…”

I float in my trance, interested in what happens next.  A new scene forms…

_Ah.  I am fourteen, my first year of high school.  I’m in my favorite red sweater, yay!  I miss this sweater._

“Look around,” Helen commands me.  “What do you see?”

_I’m in the bandroom.  I’ve pack away my clarinet, but where is Bruce, my boyfriend?  I feel strangely concerned._

_Searching around, I finally bump into Wendy Lowman, the mean senior girl who loves picking on me.  “Oh, Bruce?” she drawls.  “I know where he is.  Check out Drum Storage.”_

_Wendy and her cruel friends begin snickering._

_Dread blooming within me, I go to the Drum Storage Room, which should be locked.  Its not.  I hear low moans inside._

_My heart breaking, I open the door and flick on the light.  There, in the corner, is Bruce, kissing and fingering Melanie Hanson in her underpants.  Melanie Hanson!_

_Bruce looks up at me, annoyed, then embarrassed._

_“What is this?” I demand, although there’s really no need for my question._

_Melanie throws me an evil glare.  “I’m so close,” she pants.  “Tell her to fuck off, Bruce!”_

_Bruce glances down at Melanie, then at me.  “Sorry,” he mumbles.  “I’m dumping you, I guess.”_

_Wendy and her girlfriends scream with laughter as I turn and run away in tears._

To my amazement, I can tell my body is also shedding tears on Helen’s couch!  This was ten years ago!  How can the pain feel so raw?

“Forget,” Helen commands me quickly.  I feel her hand brush my forehead.  “Forget, Lara.  Go deeper into sleep…”

High school fades.  I fall further into sleep, soon no longer aware of anything.

*************

An hour later, I am riding the elevator home, my thoughts a little jumbled.

I had a nice time.  Helen and I chatted, discussing my resume and my career aspirations.  She’s so nice.  She really seems like she wants to help me.  The two of us spent the whole time sipping tea and laughing like old friends.  I can’t believe how the time flew by.

I actually catch myself fantasizing about kissing Helen, a thought I quickly stamp out.  Jeez!  Where did that come from?

In my tiny little apartment, David is working away, rearranging the kitchen.  “How’d it go?” he asks absently, trying to stack our pots in less than a foot of shelf space.

I’m surprisingly annoyed to see him.  “Fine,” I say offhandedly.

Sure enough, David’s set up the TV, and there’s his stupid Xbox right up front.  Great.  Now I’ll never be able to watch a show when I want to.  Sometimes the dude just thinks of himself.

*************

The next day, it rains, spoiling David’s and my plans to venture off to Chinatown.  We unpack the apartment, making some progress.  But right around two o’clock, he gets that naughty look in his eye.

“Com’on,” he coaxes, indicating the bedroom.

I’m not in the mood for sex… but it has been a while.  So I give in.

David takes me onto the bed, kissing me and pulling at my clothes.  I go through the motions.  Soon, we’re naked and David is on top.  He’s rock-hard and slobbering all over me with sloppy, gross kisses.

“Wait, wait,” I gasp.  I’m just not wet.  I lick two fingers, then furiously stroke myself.

“Hey, let me do that,” says my horny hubby.

“Shut up,” I snap.  “I’m nearly there.”

Soon, I’m wet… er, wet enough.  I lie back, spreading my legs, staring at our ceiling.  David mounts me and starts pounding.  He’s crazy horny.

But I’m not.  I wait impatiently for him to finish, making sure to fake it a bit at the end.

Is it weird that as David’s in me… all I can think about is Helen Fairchilde?

*************

 


	4. Chapter 4

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a hypnotist, and the hypnotist takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

The next day is Monday, and David is off to work.  I try to get excited about unpacking our framed pictures, but I’m restless and distracted somehow.

I know its weird… but I want to find David’s secret porno collection and masturbate to it all day.  What is **_with_** me?

*************

Around one o’clock, I decide that I **_really_** need to stop slacking.  David will be home before I know it, and it would be nice if I had something unpacked.  Anything.

So I grit my teeth, pick up some scissors, and…

Do nothing.

A weird desire has just hit me.  Like a sleepwalker, I take my apartment key and move out the front door.  There’s an available elevator; I ride straight up to the top.

Soon Adele the maid has greeted me at the Fairchildes’ front door.  Without a word, the maid leads me down the maze of corridors and points me up the master stairs.  I ascend alone.  Soon I am standing before a wooden door.

Without a thought in my head, I open it and step inside.

This is a bedroom, with an elaborate canopy bed draped in linen at the center of the room.  Helen is lying on the bed, completely naked, reading another book.  She looks up.

By her expression, I know I am to strip.  I obey, struck at how little control I feel I have over my own body.  Helen watches me patiently.  She calmly sets aside her book on the nightstand.

When I am nude, Helen spreads her legs, wide.  I climb onto the bed, kneel prostrate before her, and begin sucking her.  My mistress leans back, allowing her eyes to close.

*************

And this is how my days go.  I see David off to work in the morning.  Then, later when I am not expecting it, I suddenly feel an urge to travel to the Fairchilde penthouse.  When I am in Helen and Malcolm’s private rooms, I turn into a slave girl, a meek little slut who can’t resist anything my mistress or master commands me to do.

First, I perform sex on them.  Sometimes its just with Helen.  Other times, I fuck Malcolm (or vice versa), but Helen is always there to watch.  And occasionally, I have sex with the both of them.

Then after our first bout of lust, Helen always commands me to look at her, and I fall into her hypnotic spell.  Oh, Helen is hypnotizing me, I know that now.  I can’t remember the first time it happened or when I even realized what she was doing to me.  But now I hear her inky voice, I feel my body dissolve into sleep, and that detached, foggy sensation blots out my mind.  I go into trance, and Helen has access to my mind.

Sometimes she probes my memories, interested in… well, I don’t know what.  Other times she commands me to temporarily believe that strange things have happened, like David is dead, or I am married to Malcolm, or even that I am legally her slave and must wear a slave collar in her presence.  These hallucinations are powerful, and they become my complete reality, for a time.

And then, at the end, Helen carefully erases my memory of our encounter, and sends me back home to my husband.  I forget about the sex and hypnosis and her control over me for the rest of the day… until it is the day after, and I am mentally summoned once again.

*************

Of course, things start to fall apart.  When I am with David, I have completely forgotten the Fairchildes, and yet they seep into my thoughts.  David talks to me about his boring office work – he’s slaving away for something called an “Incentive Package” – and he doesn’t notice that I’m sullen and withdrawn.

I begin to resent him.

I also start noticing all the annoying things he does.  He never puts a new roll of toilet paper on the spool when we’re out.  He thinks talking in a fake French accent is funny.  He thinks I should do all the laundry because he’s working so hard.  He’s put on ten pounds.  And so on.

Its getting harder to see his endearing qualities.  Why did I marry him, again?

*************

And then…

It is Friday night, colder than usual.  **_Of course_** David is late getting home, and I’m so annoyed with him that I just get into my flannel pajamas rather than go out for Japanese like I know he was hoping for.

As David strips out of his work clothes, he prattles on about his day.  **_Whatever_**.  I can’t listen to his bullcrap anymore.  I’m so sick of hearing about the office politics of Willow Crescent Associates.

My dipshit husband babbles on, but I let my thoughts wander.  Strangely, I’m thinking about Malcolm Fairchilde.  And his cock.  His, enormous, throbbing cock.  His huge, purple, pulsing, muscular, glistening, turbopowered cock.  I bet that when that cock gets hard, whatever lucky lady is on the receiving end must get fucked so hard, her teeth rattle.  Mmmm.  Absently, I picture myself on a tiny desert island, marooned with Malcolm Fairchilde.  And his cock.

In my fantasy… _I’m dressed in a sarong, nothing more.  And he’s naked.  I stroke his chest, and say, “I want you sooooo badly…”  I don’t know why I’m so horny for this married man who is literally more than twice my age, but mmmmmmm,_ **just go with it, girl** _.  I’m wet now.  Yeah, I slide up to Malcolm, take that cock in my hand,_ **feel** _it purr for me, and say-_

“Hey,” David says, using that obnoxious voice which he thinks is sexy.

My stupid husband has climbed on to the sofa next to me, in his boxers, with an obvious hard-on.  His gut bulges under his old tee shirt.  He tries put his lips on me.

 ** _Ewww!_**   “Don’t do that!” I yell, jumping.

Too late, I realize that while in my Malcolm-fantasy, my hand slipped under my own top.  I was playing with my own nipple!  No wonder David the Nincompoop thought I was horny for him.

David withdraws.  “Hey, sorry,” he mumbles.  “I was hoping we could… y’know…”

 ** _Have sex?_**   “I’m **_so_** not in the mood,” I retort angrily.

My oaf-like husband frowns.  “Seriously, was it something I said?”

I seize the remote and stab the PWR button.  “You do what you want,” I snap, and refuse to look at him.

There’s an awful pause while David looks at me.  Why can’t he just **_go away?_**

Finally, the jerk gets up.  He moves into the bedroom and shuts the door.

Good.

I swear, sometimes David makes my skin crawl.

I try to focus on the Real Housewives of Where-ever, but I’m still angry and I’m still thinking about humping Malcolm.  God, Malcolm is a real fucking man.  His cock…

What am I doing?  Why am I wasting my time here?

Not really thinking, I leap to my feet.  I grab my keys, nothing else, and storm out of my crappy little apartment, glad to be leaving stupid David behind.  I know what I need.

*************

Giselle the maid is a little surprised to see me, but leads me into the Fairchilde residence without any comment.  I’m impatient to reach Helen and Malcolm.  I don’t know why, but I am compelled to seek them, like the salmon fighting their way upstream.

I enter Malcolm’s and Helen’s “talking room,” that weird room with the bed smack-dab in the center.  I still don’t get what that room’s for.  Malcolm and Helen are there, dressed casually, talking quietly over glasses of red wine.  I feel relieved to see them.

“Lara?” Helen asks, surprised.  “Is something the matter?”

I’m suddenly confused.  Why did I come here?  I’m not certain.  A second ago, I was determined to reach Helen and Malcolm… now that desire has vanished.  I don’t get it.

Seeing my perplexed expression, Malcolm nudges his wife.  “Put her under,” he says urgently, indicating me.  “Before her mind re-asserts itself.”

As Helen hurries to me, I have this strange feeling like I’ve made a mistake, a horrible mistake.  I step back.

“Lara,” Helen intones, her voice ringing with authority.  “Sit down.”

I resist.

Helen’s lips press together.  “When I snap my fingers,” she tells me crossly, “you will sit down.”

Her fingers click, once, and now I have no control over my legs.  The Fairchildes hover over me as I lower myself into a puffy recliner.

“Very good,” Helen commends me.

I look up, memories appearing in my mind.  Too late, I realize that I’m about to be hypnotized.  I realize what’s being done to me.

“Wait,” I say desperately.

Helen’s fingers were about to snap again.  She raises one eyebrow.

I swallow.  Suddenly all I want to do is escape.

“Helen,” I plead.  “Please… I don’t want…”

“Its too late for that,” Helen tells me coldly.  “ ** _SLEEP!_** ”

And I am hers again.

*************

Helen sends me down **_deep_** , far deeper into hypnosis than I’ve ever gone before.  It seems what while I was under her spell before, a tiny part of my mind was always my own, fighting her.  Now Helen is determined to crush any resistance.  She throws the book at me.

Under this new assault, my mind falls under her full control.  She takes me back into my memories, showing me how things **_really_** unfolded.  For example…

_I am in the car, waking up from the trip to Herman’s Lake.  I squint in the darkness, watching Carrie and David, unaware that I am awake._

_Carrie presses against David.  “I think you’re hot,” she sighs, wrapping her arms around her neck.  “Don’t you think I’m hot, too?”_

_“Oh, **fuck yeah** ,” David grins._

_As I watch, horrified, my boyfriend pulls off the slut’s top, actually tearing it from her at the end._

_“Ow!” Carrie winces.  “Hey, watch it…!”_

_“Shut the fuck up,” growls David.  He licks one of Carrie’s breasts like an scoop of ice cream, then decides he wants to get into her pants.  She protests but can’t stop him as he forces her mini shorts and panties down below her hips._

_“Don’t fucking worry,” David pants, spinning Carrie around.  She grips the door frame, afraid of what happens next.  “When I get outta Yale, baby, I’ll be so fucking rich, yeah.  You’ll be begging to suck my dick then, won’cha?”  He’s pulling out that fully-erect dick now.  “ **Won’cha?** ”_

_Carrie squeals as he forces himself in, right there, right there in my parents’ house._

_I cringe, covering my eyes._

My mind travels even farther back…

_I am fourteen, throwing open the door of Drum Storage.  There, in the back, is David, furiously plugging Melanie Hanson in the ass._

_“Get the fuck out!” David sneers at me, just before he cums.  Loudly._

_In tears, I reel backward.  I thought Bruce cheated on me with Melanie Hanson!  But I was wrong…   It was **David!**   David, the whole time!_

And there are still more memories that I uncover.

David shagged every girl he could a Yale.

He hunted down Michelle, my old girlfriend, and physically threatened her.

He stole cash from my parents.

He remanded anal sex, then raped me to get it.

He tried to fake my signature and empty my trust fund.

He is chasing women at Willow Crescent Associates.

He is showing money on strippers in Times Square, demanding blow jobs or just blow.

He is **_seriously_** on crack.

He hates me.

David has **_always_** secretly hated me.

He only married me for my money.

He’s a horrible person.

How could I have ever loved him?

*************

When I come out of hypnosis – days later – my mind is clear.  I feel calm, in control.  I have no questions.  I know what must be done.

With Helen and Malcolm supportively at my side, I pick up the phone.  After I dial, my mom answers.

“ _Well, hello, honey,_ ” she says, sounding worried.  “ _Where are you?  Have you spoken with David, he’s been leaving the strangest messages on the home phone-_ “

“Mom,” I interrupt.  “I’m leaving David.  I have to.  My life’s in danger with him.  You shouldn’t speak with him either.”

I can tell Mom is horrified.  “ _In danger…?_ ” she asks, her voice quavering.

“He’s raped me, Mom,” I say coldly.  “And there’s been other women.  And he steals.  He’s… he’s a sick person.”

My mom is beside herself.  “ _Oh, honey…_ ” she moans.

“I’m okay, Mom,” I assure her.  “I’m with friends.  I’m safe.  But I need to divorce him, **_immediately_**.  Do you understand?”

“ _I do,_ ” my mom replies, and I hear resolve in her voice.  She’s on board.  I nod to Helen and Malcolm.

“ _I’ll alert Elizabeth Shell,_ ” my mom promises.  Elizabeth is our family lawyer.  Cutthroat.  She’ll tear out David’s guts.  Good.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say quietly.

*************

Elizabeth and I confront David the Sleaze a few days later, after we have time to invoke the prenup and make sure he has no access to my family money.  David acts hurt and bewildered, but I’ve been bamboozled by his innocent act long enough.  I walk away from him for the last time, making sure I don’t look back.

Of course, I get the apartment.  Helen and Malcolm, wonderful friends that they are, see to it that David’s stuff is boxed up and shipped out.

Finally!  I’m rid of him.  I feel liberated, as if seeing the world clearly after being fooled for so long.

And best of all?  Helen came through on that job recommendation.  I start as an assistant MOMA curator in two weeks.

*************


	5. Epilogue

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a hypnotist, and the hypnotist takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

 

**_Three months later…_ **

I glance through my interoffice mail, silently cursing my idiot secretary for the umpteenth time.  Doesn’t she know that she’s supposed to weed out the collections memos?  How does MOMA manage to hire such rank incompetents?  I’ll have to fire her.

I’ve been Assistant Curator for New Exhibits for long enough now to consider MOMA a second home.  I like my job, but I should be completely in charge of New Exhibits.  I have the eye for what the museum visitors want, I know how to schmooze the artists, I can handle the finances.  Sooner or later, I’ll make my move, see to it the current head is destroyed, and then assume command.  **_Then_** New York will see what this museum can be.

As I log into my computer, I tap my voicemail button.  There are a number of calls from agents, wanting to know when their artists will be displayed.  Well, they can wait.  I’m don’t work for them.

The last call gives me pause.  “ _Hi, Lara, this is Ian.  We met last night?_ ”

I blink.  Oh, Ian.  The rich, thirty-something lawyer who give $250,000 at the fundraiser.  I had to wine and flirt with him to get that check.

“ _Listen,_ ” Ian goes on, “ _I enjoyed meeting you last night, and thought we made a connection.  Would you like to meet for drinks one night this week?  I’m in your neighborhood-_ “

I stab the ERASE button.  He wants a date?  Fool.  I already have his money.

*************

Later that afternoon, I have to drop everything to go up to the Third Floor, where, sure enough, my assistants have screwed up the description plagues on the new Hilegrant portraits.  **_Morons!_**   Do I have to do everything myself?!?

As I pull out my cellphone to scream at my staff, I glance across the gallery.  There, in front of the new Neils Galluente, is a young couple.  They’re holding hands, gazing up at the canvas in wonder and naughty appreciation.

Galluente paints nude people about to have sex, but he always distorts position and perspective, so that the human form is barely recognizable.  Think Metzinger cross-bred with Kandinsky and some Dr. Seuss thrown in, add a pornographic flavor, and you’ll get the idea.  Our Galluente depicts two young lovers, about to get it on.  The genitals are huge and almost coming off the canvas.

The young woman points at the painting, whispers something to her boyfriend, then giggles wickedly.  He laughs and tries to imitate the pose of the man.  Its physically impossible, but his girlfriend loves it.  They both laugh.

I pause.

Boyfriend takes girlfriend in his arms, and they kiss.  It’s just a little kiss, but it stops the world nonetheless.  I watch girlfriend lean in, and I know the love she feels.

David and I once kissed before that painting, years ago.

Galluente had brought his exhibit to Yale, and I, of course, dragged David to the show.  He was a good sport.  And we were both swept up by the eroticism of Galluente’s work, **_especially_** that painting.

David…

Catching myself, I angrily swat the memory from my mind.  _David’s in prison,_ I remind myself.  _Where he belongs._

Yes, David is incarcerated.  Helen was worried that despite the hypnosis she used to help me, I might crawl back to the vile scuzzbag.  So Malcolm called up his associates at Willow Crescent Associates, pulled some strings, and David was arrested for embezzlement not long after.  He’s out of the picture, forever.  Good riddance.

I turn my back on the two annoying lovers, already thinking about how I’ll rake my staff across the coals.

*************

It is daybreak.  I lie naked against Malcolm, enjoying his body warmth against my skin.  He only likes to fuck me from behind these days, pulling my hair, and my scalp aches a bit.  But he’s worth it.

Malcolm is still asleep, but Helen is in the bathroom suite, examining herself in the mirror.  I’m still not permitted to see all she does to get ready in the morning, but the woman is an artist at getting hair and makeup just so.

I lazily admire Helen’s naked body, wondering when I’ll next have sex with her.  I hope-

A violent gagging feeling suddenly grips me.  I feel vomit push its way up from my stomach.  With panic and dread, I leap from Malcolm, hurry past Helen, and then throw up buckets into the toilet.

After I heave and gasp and wheeze, my head spins.  I look up and see Helen staring down at me, aghast.

“Get up,” the older woman commands, her voice harsh.

I stagger to my feet, allowing her to wipe my mouth.  Helen propels me back into the bedroom.  I’m seated in a reading chair, and Helen gently probes my stomach with her expert fingers.  Her face hardens.

“Malcolm!” she says with venom.  “You told me you got yourself fixed!”

“Oh… **_bugger,_** ” grumbles the billionaire, still lying on the bed.

“ ** _FREEZE,_** ” Helen says to me, passing a hand over my face.  A posthypnotic command takes over my mind.  Suddenly I am completely petrified.  I literally can’t move a muscle.

“Wonderful, Malcolm, just wonderful,” Helen growls, really angry with her husband.  “Now we have to get rid of her.”

“Ugghhhhh,” mumbles Malcolm.  “Can’t we-“

“No,” Helen snaps.  “We can’t.  So drop that thought from your mind.”

Malcolm sighs.

“To think of the months of careful work I put in on this girl!” Helen rages, truly upset.  “And all you had to do was one little thing, one little-“

“We’ll find another girl,” Malcolm interjects.

“You don’t do the heavy work of breaking them,” retorts Helen.  “Easy for you to say.”

“Fine,” says the billionaire.  “What do we do?”

I listen, horrified at what is unfolding before me.  Helen and Malcolm are discussing me as if I am a dog who soiled the Persian carpets.  I struggle to argue, to plead with them.  But I can’t budge.

“She can’t stay in the Crestmark Tower, that’s for certain,” Helen thinks out loud, glaring at me.  “The staff knows she spends time with us.  Once she’s showing, they’ll put two and two together.”

“Then send her away,” Malcolm says crossly.  “Convince her that she can’t remember us, that the child is a one-night stand, and that she wants to move back to Iowa with her parents.”

Helen nods, tautly.  “I swear, Malcolm, you are more trouble than you’re worth,” she says angrily to her husband.  He rolls over, turning his back to her.  And me.

And then Helen stands directly before me, her eyes burning into mine.

 _No Helen,_ I think desperately.  _Let me tell you how much I-_

“Look into my eyes, Lara,” Helen says, snakelike.  “Look into my eyes…”

*************


End file.
